Third Drink
by lp2k
Summary: The first drink relaxes; the second stimulates... It's the third drink that gives her trouble.


It was always the third drink that did it, she reflected, as she stared into the amber depths of the scotch that remained in her glass. The first drink was pure relaxation, the burn of the alcohol somehow soothing the sharp edges left by the day. The second made her either giddy or melancholy, depending. The third was trouble.

She felt the alcohol sinking into her body, making it feel heavy and slow, yet oddly weightless. It permeated her brain, loosening connections as it went until her mind was a place of free-flowing words and images, unencumbered by logic or factuality. And no matter what she was thinking about when she started the third drink, she knew where she'd inevitably end up. She never drank around him, not more than the occasional celebratory single drink, for obvious reasons.

She tried to imagine where he was right now, with which gorgeous woman, in which seedy bar. She visualized with perfect clarity the expressions he'd use in the process of seduction – and she knew that with Cal, every romantic encounter would be a seduction, whether it was a new conquest or an old, familiar face. She could see him with his head tilted back, observing from under lowered eyelids; then leaning forward, his lips mixing smirks with pouts until the woman was a confused, aroused amalgamation of wanting to please him and wanting to baby him. People were always commenting on his eyes, how hard and penetrating they were, but Gillian had much more trouble coping with his mouth, always in motion, expressive, tempting his conversational partner to say – or do – whatever it was they were holding back. Frankly, she was surprised he didn't get himself punched more often; if she'd been a man she certainly would have had the urge.

She knew how his body language would change as he felt his partner begin to loosen her grip on whatever reasons she'd thought up for not sleeping with him on the first date, or after that last time when he hadn't even called, or when they'd only just met tonight, or when he was her favorite lover but still her ex-husband. Cal always loved to stand in a person's personal space, but now he'd do it with an air of natural intimacy, rather than intimidation. She could count on one hand the number of times he'd approached her like that, and have fingers left over. It had always been when she'd been hurt or badly frightened; his touch, though caring, had never had the erotic energy she'd seen him put into a mere handshake with Clara.

She always skipped over the next parts, not caring what he said to her to get her to invite him home, what sort of repartee they enjoyed during the charged cab ride, how they maneuvered themselves into bed. Her mind charged ahead, painting pictures of his body lying on top of hers, weighing it down, pressing it into the bed. She'd watched what came before as a spectator in her mind's eye, but now she felt his weight, breathed in his scent. She could feel his knowing touch, sense him reading her, finding out (again, or for the first time) what made her moan (his lips on her neck), what made her gasp (his fingers pushing inside her), what made her scream his name (his cock penetrating her deeply after the first few experimental thrusts). What made her come (him, everything about him).

She sighed, turning her glass between her fingers. Drank, draining the glass before placing it back on her desk. Three drinks was her limit, she knew – one more, and her fingers would itch to call him, text him, send him some message that would make him abandon his conquest and come find her in the office. She'd endured a few long, four-drink nights since she'd known Cal, and they were rough on her; she'd once had to turn off her phone and leave it in another room, to avoid the unbearable desire to do something, say something that would change everything. As she tightened the cap on the scotch, she wondered idly what would happen if she had five drinks. Unconsciousness, probably, but she wasn't sure. Maybe something new, better.

* * *

_A/n: As you might have guessed, I had a drink or two while writing this myself - apologies for any errors_._ Please review - perhaps I'll write a sequel addressing that fifth drink. =)_


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